


Prologue

by Soraya (soraya2004), soraya2004



Series: Snippets from the "His Bodyguard" universe [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-29
Updated: 2008-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/Soraya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/soraya2004
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't always take the easy road</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before [His Bodyguard - Chapter I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/155193)

The military seemed to think it was a good idea to recruit him in his angry teen years. They came to his school in their dress blues, handing out leaflets with F-15s on them while a Captain, who looked like an extra from 'Commando', drew him aside and said: "We've been waiting for you, son. Are you ready to aim high?"

John wasn't convinced from the start. He wanted to fly more than anything, and he kind of liked the idea of blowing shit up on weekends. All the other stuff with the rules, the herd mentality and that weird thing about respecting the chain of command just didn't work for him, since he was more of a _fly by the seat of his pants_ kind of guy, and as far as he could tell, _these_ guys took anal to the level where they ironed their fucking hair.

In the end, he signed up—mostly because the Air Force had the money to train him. That they also had bases in all the major surfing capitals across the globe helped a lot. Watching his _Ivy League or nothing_ dad scream when he broke the news was just another bonus.

***

The Air Force provided the staging ground for his transition from angry teen to angry twenty-something. And for a while there, John built a pretty unique career for himself on the premise that if he pissed off enough people he would eventually make it to General.

Every General he made it to seemed distinctly _unimpressed_ by his refusal to follow the _stupid_ orders, and every time he made it to one of them, they tended to shout a lot before slapping him with latrine duty so often he spent most days smelling of disinfectant. He stuck with this strategy as a matter of principle, even though it brought him kneepads instead of medals. And when it started bringing him reduced flight time as well, he _still_ wouldn't back down, not with his integrity at stake.

So, John scrubbed many a floor with his toothbrush in his undergraduate years, secure in the knowledge that he was _keeping it real_. And if his peers started distancing themselves from him, he didn't worry too much about that. He almost preferred being by himself; life was far simpler that way without the added hassle of schmoozing or faking something he didn't feel just to get ahead. Things all the people around him seemed to do.

Only, several years down the line, he noticed a new trend. Everyone else was moving on with their lives; they were rising up the ranks and, more importantly, moving on to better things.

The thought of being left behind disturbed him in ways he wasn't prepared for. Because, with all the bridges he'd burnt so far, he didn't know where one more would leave him. All he really wanted was a chance to be his own man—to escape his family's control and build a life separate from the one they'd mapped out for him.

Still, the Air Force was a different kind of family with regulations and rules and codes of its own. And as he watched pilots with half his talent graduate ahead of him, it occurred to him that if he wanted a _real_ career, he would have to stop swimming against the tide.

***

The weird thing, John realized, was that it wasn't _that_ hard to play the game when he needed to. Most people just seemed to want him to grit his teeth and keep his mouth shut in the face of some truly spectacular orders. So he decided to fall in line with the rest of his peers, riding this _new_ strategy all the way to Major and hiding any part of himself that didn't fit with what the military wanted him to be.

In his early thirties, to avoid any awkward questions, he bearded himself in a marriage to a lovely woman, who didn't seem to mind that he wasn't around much. And even though it took _playing the game_ to new levels, he told himself that he had everything under control—that he would find a way to make things work with Nancy even if he couldn't, well, make her _happy_.

Very soon, though, that particular game turned sour.

Nancy became distant around the time _he_ started deflecting conversations about having a family. He could sense her restlessness in those rare moments when he _did_ come home too tired to talk about where he'd been or what he'd been doing. Their silences made him ache to escape to the normalcy of open warfare, where at least he knew how to handle the situation. And in the face of this failing as a husband, he started to question some of the _other_ choices he'd made.

He couldn't understand how he'd gone from _flying under the radar_ to losing every shred of integrity. Yes, trouble still had a way of finding him, but most of those infractions were so small they were hardly worth the effort to file. Except, apparently, the thing about his hair, which every C.O. seemed determined to write him up for. Still, it bothered him that he was turning himself into someone he barely recognized.

Under the guise of marriage problems, he decided to let a little of the _old_ John Sheppard out—the one, who was most comfortable pissing people off and skirting the line without crossing it. And despite renewing his reputation for being a difficult son of a bitch, he allowed himself the illusion that he was keeping the insubordination at a level which meant he hadn't sold out completely, but which his superiors could also tolerate.

Then one sunny afternoon, everything fell apart when integrity forced him to disobey a direct order and fly a rescue mission into the heart of Kabul.

***

After Afghanistan, John discovered that not only was the Air Force fed up with him, Nancy didn't want him around _at all_. She served him with papers citing irreconcilable differences, and he realized she had a point there when he didn't quite get what she meant by that.

He still wasn't prepared for it when the divorce came through. Everything about it seemed so bizarre, from his lawyers, who kept saying: "Just be grateful she doesn't want alimony," down to Nancy's scrawling signature signing off on him. But by then, he knew he had to let go. Nancy wanted to move on; she'd found someone, who made her happy, someone who'd been there for her a hell of a lot more often than _he_ had.

He didn't want to be the kind of asshole, who would drag things out just because _he_ needed some stability in his life. So he signed his name next to hers, feeling like it was Afghanistan all over again: like he'd arrived too late to rescue anything and found only the rotting carcass of his marriage waiting for him.

***

Next, he went back to court. Only, _this_ time, he hired lawyers of a different kind because the Air Force were taking a far less forgiving approach than Nancy had to dump him.

He put that down to his impressive history of insubordination. And as the witnesses for the prosecution filed in, he wasn't surprised by how many people he'd pissed off over the years, just that so many of them felt compelled to support his court-martial. His _biggest_ surprise came when the _friends_ he never knew he had showed up to defend him. Friends like Mitch's grandmother, who turned out to be one of the longest serving Senators on Capitol Hill.

She pulled enough strings to stop him getting busted back down to Captain. Then, on the way out of the courtroom, she said, "I can't make this go away, Major, but I have cut a deal, which should stall them for some time." Drawing him to an alcove, she took both of his hands in hers. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do more for you after everything you've done for my family," she whispered, looking devastated about that. "You have no idea how grateful we all are to you for bringing Mitch home."

John floundered there for a while, not sure what to say. In his mind, he'd failed. Mitch was six feet under, and _his_ career was going the same way; it didn't feel like a win to him let alone something to be grateful for.

"Don't; you did everything you could," the Senator said sharply before he could stray any further down that road. "Because of you, my grandson isn't lying in a ditch somewhere, he's home where he belongs. I won't forget that as long as I live, and neither should you."

She kept staring at him after that, clearly waiting for a sign that he'd found some comfort in those words. So he gave her hand a gentle squeeze; it was the least he could do under the circumstances.

"Now, officially, you won't serve time," the Senator continued in a much softer voice. "But you will have to go away for a while, somewhere completely off the radar. Think you can handle that?"

"Ma'am, I've handled a lot worse," John murmured, letting his mouth curl up a little at the corner. It was the first smile he'd attempted in months, though the Senator seemed to see its bleakness, if her gentle hand pats were anything to go by. After a few moments of this, John asked, "What have they put on the table?"

"Well, there are three things really." Now, the Senator drew back altogether, looking every one of her years. "Option one is Antarctica for the next two years: you get to baby-sit diplomats touring a research facility in McMurdo. Option two gets you the desert, where you'll baby-sit diplomats touring a research facility in Area 51."

It wasn't really much of a choice; either way, John knew he'd been grounded.

He thought fast—about the weather, the way his knee acted up in the cold and his chances of finding _something_ to fly off-duty. Deals like _this_ tended to have a time limit, and from the haggard expression on the Senator's face, 'option three' probably included a long stretch in Leavenworth.

"Ma'am, I'll take the desert," he said very quickly.

"Yes, I thought you would."

When she pulled that manila folder from her handbag, he failed not to clutch at it like the lifeline he knew it was.

"Your new posting," she explained very gently. "Read it, get up to speed, and be ready in a week."

The moment she left, John sat down and closed his eyes, wondering where this new road would take him.

 

The End.


End file.
